Divide et Impera
by HummingEnigma312
Summary: An Imperial commander is given a second chance. He must take the proper steps to reunify Skyrim and keep his men well. But even a commander must face his enemies alone. Werewolves, vampires, and dragons threaten his advance. He must stay strong. He must live up to his family name and uncover his true power. For the Empire!
1. Casus Belli

**AN: I have no clue what I'm doing.**

* * *

_Confine yourself to the presence_

_-Marcus Aurelius _

* * *

Marcus Quintus Aurelius was a many things; a murderer, a thief, a liar, but he was not a traitor. His blood boiled despite the sheer coldness of Skyrim. His wrists were bound together in a rough hewn rope. He was stripped of all possession and clothing; wearing only rags. The cart he sat on bounced and bucked with the uneven road. The condemned around him were sullen. He fought the urge to reach out and strike them, for they were Stormcloaks. They were his enemy.

How he ended up with them was a mystery. A treason trial would have taken place back in Cyrodiil. No, he shut his capture from his memory. It was just a case of wrong place/ wrong time. Now, he was sure he'd perish along with the rest of them.

A single man fidgeted. He was not the soldier type and he struck Quintus as a shady character.

"Psst," the fidgeting man whispered, "Where are they taking us?"

Quintus looked up and gave a grim smile, "I take it you're not a Stormcloak? I'd bet my last Septim it be the executioner's block."

The man inhaled sharply, "Divines no. I'm just a horse thief. No. No. No. This can't be."

"What's your name horse thief?" Quintus asked. It was for the sake of peace. He couldn't stake hearing another whine in despair.

"L-lokir," he stumbled, "I'm from Rorikstead. I shouldn't be here."

"Neither should I," Quintus sighed, "But fate wills it."

"None of you should be here," a man next to Lokir growled. "Damn Imperials, puppets of the Dominion."

"No. No. No. Akatosh. Julianos. Stendarr." Lokir prayed.

"So Stormcloak," Quintus snorted, "How does it feel? Knowing your death is near; knowing your cause is about to crumble with your death?"

"I would ask the same Imperial," he retorted, "About to be executed by your own kinsman."

"I've committed a crime. I deserved the punishment as do you." Quintus glared at the Nord across from him.

"Quiet you," the cart driver shouted, "We're arriving in Helgan. Last stop."

Quintus glanced around and admittedly found himself in begrudging awe. Helgan was by no means an extravagant keep. It was a military compound that seemed both efficient and homey. Large towers exemplified the power and might of the Empire. Stone walls held back the wild and countless soldiers manned these fortifications. Several large Juniper trees dotted the bleak interior.

"Out," the driver ordered.

One by one the condemned men filed out of the cart. Quintus fell in line. He was third right behind Lokir.

"Let's take it easy," a Nordic man said. He was a Legionnaire. "Name and Hold. You're remains will be sent to your families for proper burial."

Quintus almost balked visibly. It seemed rather kind to return the bodies of the executed. Maybe it was a matter of winning hearts. Maybe it was sending a messenger. He let the thought pass and waited for his death.

Suddenly, Lokir broke from the line and tried to run. "Archers!"

Quintus closed his eyes. But the sound of arrows piercing flesh found his ears.

"Did anyone know his name?" the Nord Legionnaire asked. He seemed shaken but kept his eyes away from the arrow ridden corpse merely meters behind him.

"Lokir, from Rorikstead." Quintus announced. "He wasn't even a Stormcloak."

"Thank you. Name?"

"Marcus Quintus Aurelius. Imperial City."

"Legion?"

"Dishonorably discharged." Quintus shook his head.

"May you find peace in Sovengarde Imperial."

Quintus nodded in reply and walked toward the executioner's block. He was second in line now. The Stormcloak in front of him was already kneeling. Quintus admired his courage. The Stormcloak kneeled at the block, glaring harshly at his executioner.

"Get it over with." He barked. "When I die, I will go to Sovengarde. Can you say the same coward?"

Quintus found the scene rather amusing. That was until the headman's axe arced and a sickening sound broke the air. A chorus of curses followed. The executioner held his axe at rest and stood silently.

Suddenly, Quintus found himself kneeling at the block. He did not accept his death. He wasn't going to die just yet.

"Take off your hood coward," Quintus shouted, "Let us look into the eyes of our undoer." Shout rang out in agreement.

"With pleasure," the executioner removed his hood. He was an ugly looking Nord. His nose looked like it had been broken and rebroken too many times. Scars upon scars wrapped his cheeks and he lacked an eye.

"We all wanted to see that pretty face of yours," Quintus huffed, "Let's go beautiful."

"I'm gonna enjoy this." The headsman raised his axe.

In a swift movement, Quintus rolled out of its arc and kicked in the axeman's knee cap. The axe clanged against the stone and Quintus moved quickly. He worked his bonds against the axe and picked it up. The axeman, still reeling in pain, was caught by surprise when his own weapon caught him in the throat.

"Archers!"

Quintus waited for the barrage. It never came. Instead, a loud, horrifying roar rang across the valley. Quintus was in disbelief as he reared around to what had perched itself atop the watchtower. The very sight paralyzed his body. All his years in the Legion had not prepared his for this moment.

A large black beast; a dragon with red eyes and sharp, ebony scales stared him down. He was sure this would be his death, killed by a myth. It reared its head back and lunged at Quintus.

"Fire!"

A rain of arrow distracted the dragon but none found chinks in its armor. It seemed to actually anger it more. The dragon reared and fire flew from its maw. It scorched the earth around Quintus; chaos followed. Quintus bolted to the safety of a tower. Weaponless and armorless, he knew better than to fight incredible odds. He just wanted to live at this point. Survival at all costs.

He crashed through one of the wooden doors and found he was not alone. A good sized group of prisoners followed, wheezing and injured.

"Stormcloaks!" one of them shouted, "Now's our chance to escape!."

The injured prisoners shouted in agreement.

Quintus' faced morphed into pure hate. "Cowards." He spat under his breath.

He needed to distance himself from the rabble. He needed to escape. Quintus ran up the stairs, hoping to find someone with half a brain. Halfway up, the stone walls of the tower were suddenly smashed in. Quintus stopped in his tracks as the dragon laid waste to the flights of stairs above him.

"Out the hole! Into the house!"

Quintus didn't care who was issuing the orders. Whoever it was, they seemed to know how to evade danger. Quintus tumbled into the house below him and kept running. He hurried outside and tried to find anything to fight with. Everyone seemed preoccupied with the dragon. The Legionnaires could do little against it. What villagers remained tried to fight the fires but to no avail.

"Prisoner!" someone shouted, "With me if you want to live!"

Quintus whirled to see a Legionnaire beckoning him. He ran over by instinct, hoping he'd found an ally.

"Here!" he tossed Quintus a bow and quiver, "Hope you can shoot."

"What's your name soldier?" Quintus pulled on the quiver and let it hang around his hip. He plucked the string and a low twang reverberated.

"Hadvar," he responded, "We've been ordered to evacuate. Looks like the Divines have mercy on you. Let's go!"

Quintus followed Hadvar as they ducked between flaming beams and charred remains. Moving quickly, they slammed against a wall for protection as the dragons swooped down and breathed fire upon three unprotected archers. Both men winced but kept moving.

"Hurry!" Hadvar said, "Into the keep. We'll stock up and leave."

"What about the civilians?" Quintus growled.

"We'll funnel them in. Hurry." Hadvar relented and pulled other soldiers to help bring the villagers into the keep.

Quintus nodded and readied his bow. He wasn't as proficient but he was competent. He drew the bow and let it fly. The arrow skimped of the dragon's scales like rain off a rock. Quintus cursed but kept firing.

"That's the last of them!" Hadvar announced, "Inside, now!"

Quintus fired one last arrow as he followed Hadvar into the keep. Inside, the sight was something out of a nightmare. Several soldiers had burns along their bodies. They groaned in pain. A few whimpered as death took them. Quintus crouched at one in particular. He had a sword wound in his abdomen.

"Who did this?" Quintus was fuming.

"S-Stormcloak." The soldier was breathing heavy and scarcely. "I tried to stop him and…"

"It's okay brother." Quintus held his hands over the wound and willed the healing. Bright orange-yellow rays flew from his hands and slowly healed the wounds. When Quintus finished, he was felt exhausted but satisfied. The soldier's wounds were healed fully, but the soldier was knocked out. The sudden healing must have been too much pain.

"Someone carry him," Quintus ordered. "All of us or none of us."

Two of the soldier's buddies complied and nodded thanks to Quintus. He responded by patting one of them on the back.

"Hadvar," he called, "Are we ready?"

"Aye. We can lead a relief effort to Riverwood." Hadvar nodded. "You need to get outfitted."

"Armory?"

"Follow me," Hadvar led Quintus down a flight of stairs, "I have good men leading the effort."

They arrived in the armory to another horrid sight. Two legionnaires had their backs against the wall while being held at sword point by five Stormcloaks. Two more were raiding the armory. Quintus snarled and fired several arrows. Hadvar charged at the Stormcloaks, taking all seven by surprise. Three arrows struck true and a Stormcloak fell. Hadvar drove his sword into the chest of another. After two more bodies falling, Quintus found his quiver dry. He pulled a dagger off a counter and charged with blood lust. The remaining three fled for their lives and Quintus forced himself not to give chase.

"You alright soldiers?" he asked.

"Aye," one responded. A Imperial woman. "They. We thought they were our own men."

"Nothing to be ashamed of. Just get upstairs and help the relief effort."

"Yes sir," they responded in unison.

Hadvar gave Quintus an odd look before throwing him a set of armor.

"I take it you weren't a grunt like me?"

Pulling on the greaves, Quintus flashed a wolfish smile. "Good assumption soldier. I was a Tribune for three years."

"Well sir," Hadvar handed a full quiver of steel arrows and a sword, "Honor to fight beside you."

"Not out of the woods yet," Quintus sighed. "Let's go." The armor fit him well but it was a little heavy for his taste.

As they climbed up the steps, the building shook and caved. Quintus saw only black as he awoke. The armory was buried in rubble and was plunged in darkness.

"Quintus," Hadvar whispered through the darkness, "You alive?"

"Shaken," he responded, "but all my body parts are accounted for."

"Good. There's a drainage tunnel, we can take that out, but I assume that's where the Stormcloaks fled as well." Hadvar lit a torch and went ahead.

Quintus shook himself off and followed. He kept his bow up and ready. When he caught up with Hadvar, they were crouched before he mouth of a tunnel. The drainage area was filled with water and Stormcloaks. Hadvar extinguished the torch and drew his sword.

"Any ideas?"

"Too many to fight. Let's just run and take as many as possible."

"Aim for the tunnel on the far left. It empties out a few leagues from Riverwood."

"Ready?"

Quintus had an arrow knocked when he dropped into the drainage cavern. He let it loose and it caught a Stormcloak in the back of the neck. He dropped to his knees, clutching his neck in vain. The rest tried to converge on Quintus and Hadvar but were held back by a barrage of arrows. Those that did close were pushed back by Hadvar.

"Run!" Quintus ordered. Hadvar broke from protecting Quintus and clambered up the tunnel. He gave his hand and pulled Quintus up. The Stormcloaks didn't pursue. Instead, they rushed to collect their deceased brethren.

Breathing hard, the duo found time to breathe and recoup. Quintus had around 20 arrows left.

"Are we almost out?" he asked.

"Almost. It's just a stone's through out of here."

"Alright, let's see if we can catch up with the exodus." Quintus adjusted his armor and plucked his bow.

He lead the way and kept his eyes sharp. The tunnel was narrowed but suddenly widened into a cavern. Quintus dropped into a crouch and Hadvar nearly crashed into him. Before either could speak, a musky scent caught their notice. About 50 meters away, a bear was resting on by a large rock. Quintus turned around and shook his head. He'd rather avoid a fight with a bear. They moved quickly and quietly but their luck wouldn't hold. The clinking of armor was enough to rouse the bear awake.

"Run," Quintus ordered. He fired arrows as they ran. They sunk into the bear but he doubted they pierced its thick fur. The bear was still charging when he ran out of arrows. Quintus didn't draw his sword. He waited for the bear to get close. The bear swung its paw while lunging. Quintus simply sidestepped the bear and drove the shaft of the bow into the bear's eye. He drove it deep and held on. The bear reared and shook trying to swipe Quintus. He scrambled onto the bears back and stabbed his sword into the back of its neck. It crashed to the ground, roaring in defiance.

Shrugging off his pain, Quintus wiped the blood off his sword and onto the bear's fur. "Had to be the hard way…"

"Sir," Hadvar seemed a tad awestruck, "The exit is just over there."

"Good," Quintus replied, "Get moving. We've got people to protect."

The two ran across the cavern and into the fresh air of Skyrim. The sunlight was bright but not as warm as Quintus wished. Hadvar on the other hand seemed to breathe much easier. The trees surrounding them were high and hardy. The ground was covered in rough grass and shrubbery.

"Riverwood is just down river. We'll get there before sundown." Hadvar announced. Quintus was barely listening; he was in slight awe of his new surroundings. It was harsh yet beautiful. Maybe, he could get used to Skyrim; but first, he had people to save.

* * *

When they arrived in Riverwood, the two were greeted by both a stressing and relieving sight. Helgan refugees were huddled against the walls of Riverwood and soldiers hd set up camp outside the walls. More or less, they were safe but in very bad shape.

"Divines have mercy," Hadvar muttered. "What should we do?"

Quintus thought deeply and felt himself in the midst of conflicting motives. He wanted to help the refugees but he wanted to clear his name. He needed to keep the Legionnaires ready for another attack, but he didn't want to pose a threat to the fiercely independent Jarls. They were notorious for finding offense in any Imperial movement. The Great War affected them more than most.

"Does Riverwood have a governor?"

"I'm afraid not," Hadvar sighed, "Just a collection of families loyal to the Jarl. I would wager the Captain of the guards is the closest thing."

"Arrange a meeting and collect the men. I'm going to need their full cooperation."

"Sir," Hadvar ran off into the chaos. "All able-bodied Legionnaire! Assemble into cohorts!"

Tired and beaten, the Legion slowly assembled into something between a mob and a crowd. They grumbled and groaned but were more or less compliant.

"Men!" Quintus shouted, "I am Marcus Quintus Aurelius! I will be your acting commander. Are there any objections?"

The men were silent. Among the training given by the Legion, obedience to chain of command was one of them. Normally, they'd give outcry to any "leader" that tried to command them without proper inductions but as they looked at Quintus. They saw one of their own. Despite the varying races of men in the Legion, the weather beaten face, the harsh eyes, and the grim, impassive face marked all of them. Quintus was no exception.

"Good," he said, "I will not lie; we're in a dire predicament. I see the gaps in ranks. I see the guilt in your eyes. I see the fire in your hearts. Our duty is to protect our people, not waste our lives hunting a beast unmatched. If any of you chose to leave, do so now. I will have no misgivings. The road to rebuilding is long and harsh. I need you men at your best. Is that understood?"

A ragged chorus answered him.

"Dagon must've struck me deaf!" he roared pacing back and forth. "I said, is that understood!"

A full chorus of affirmation answered him and Quintus allowed himself to smile. "Good. Now we need full construction of fortifications. I want walls, tents and fires before nightfall. All healers, do the best you can. Any man not working will be assumed derelict and discharged. Understood?"

"Yes sir!" the confirming shouts shook the valley far greater than any dragon possibly could. At once, the men disbanded and went to work. Small groups swarmed around mighty trees and other went to work raising tents. They brought little from Helgan but it was enough to get started.

"What in Talos' name is going on?" someone from behind cursed.

Quintus found a veteran guard behind him. His hairs were graying, almost white, his face was haggard with age but his posture was full of confidence seen only in one military group.

"Are you the captain?" Quintus asked.

"Yes," the older man sighed, "Now what in the Nine Divines happened? Why is the Legion at my doorstep?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Quintus shook his head.

"I'm Captain Olaf the Elder. Who in Oblivion are you?"

"Tribune Aurelius; I believe you and I are going to be very busy." Quintus quickly relayed the attack on Helgan and the mass exodus that followed. "Can your people spare space for the refugees?"

The older man thought for a bit. In all his years, he'd never seen a real dragon. They were supposed to be legends, but legends didn't decimate towns. "Fine, just keep your men away from my guards. Many are Stormcloak sympathizers and I'd rather not have further bloodshed. We'll house the refugees in the barracks. "

"Thank you Captain," Quintus bowed in respect. "One last thing."

"Yes?"

"Where is the nearest Legion stronghold?"

"My old bones haven't traveled enough to give you a true answer. I would have said Helgan but… Solitude to the Northwest or Riften to the East; those would be your best bet."

Quintus made off with haste to survey the Legion camp. It was running smoothly and efficiently. Several trees where aligned to form a rough perimeter and archers were already stationed. Tents were set up en mass and wounded were being carted around to different healers. Quintus felt guilty he couldn't do more for them. He was always limited in ability. Fires soon sprung up and lit the camp up. By nightfall, the camp had turned into something nearly presentable. Quintus took first watch with a few others.

Yes, there were going to be busy. The night sky was comforting with stars and auroras plenty. The Legion would be fine, but gazing up Quintus was concerned with his own fate.

* * *

**AN: If you liked it, leave a review. If you hated it, leave a review. I've played Skyrim since it came out and I've always thought of doing a story about it.  
**

**Marcus Quintus Aurelius: Initially, a mere soldier of the Empire, born from a noble house and quickly rose through the ranks. Marcus being a family name and Quintus being which iteration (5th) Ergo He is the 5th Marcus in his clan, Aurelius. **

**Hadvar: A Nord whom joined the Legion. Despite fighting against his countrymen. He sees the Empire as a positive thing for hos homeland.**

**Captain Olaf: Retired member of the Legion, captain of the Riverwood guard. **

**Cohort: A contignet of troops, numbering more than a unit and less than a century. Usually 6 in a century. **


	2. Sua Sponte

_Sua Sponte  
_

* * *

_You have power over your mind — not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength – Marcus Aurelius_

* * *

It was pre-dawn when Quintus was given bone-chilling news. Before that, he was content with scanning the quiet valley and listening to the gentle hum of the Legion camp. There was little peace in the life of a soldier and when there were such moments, none could blame a soldier for being the least bit disgruntled. The black sky was slowly lightening; first a deep purple, then a navy blue, finally beckoning dawn with a brilliant blue laced with orange-yellow. Quintus was standing on the rampart of the newly constructed camp. It was rough fortification of mostly earth and wood, but it served its purpose.

"Tribune!" Quintus turned to meet a messenger. It was a young man, barely out of training, with a large wrap around his lumbar.

"Yes soldier?"

"Stormcloaks, arriving from the Southwest. They number equal to ours but…" the soldier trailed off and winced. Blood was seeping through his wounds.

"We have too many injured." Quintus finished and his eyes softened a fraction. "Get to the infirmary soldier. Good work."

"Y-Yes sir!" the young man, to his credit, walked to the infirmary with dignity.

Hadvar soon appeared up the rampart with a look of masked concern. "I was with the scouting frumentarii. The odds do not look good."

"We cannot control the odds, but we can control the setting of battle. Fight on our terms, not theirs."

"What do you mean? Nearly half our troops are too injured to fight and we're lower on supplies than I first thought."

"What about the guard?"

"Rebel sympathizers. They'll never fight with us."

Quintus considered several main options before branching off into any one. There was a defensive stance; they'd have to fight tooth and nail in defense of their fortified camp. While Quintus trusted their engineering, the injured soldiers would be a liability and they'd be split defending the walls and inner workings.

"What units do we have functional?" Quintus asked.

"Four heavy infantry cohorts. Two spear platoons. Two mixed projectile cohorts, javelins and archers." Hadvar winced at the scarcity.

"Are they fully armed?" Usually, that question would answer itself but the situation demanded it.

"The spear platoons lack greaves and the ballistics units are dangerously low on projectiles."

"Do we know the capabilities of our enemy?"

"Yes but don't you think we should discuss this somewhere private?" Hadvar glanced to his sides.

"Normally, yes." Quintus sighed. "But we need a plan immediately."

"They seem to have light infantry, albeit in the Nordic way. Medium armor but heavy weapons. Also, a small group of archers. "

"No camp followers. No supply trains?"

"Now that you mention it, no sir."

"They're bold. I'll give them that. It's a logistic nightmare if we keep them out longer than they want to be." Quintus found a newer option: starve them out. If he could hold his camp long enough, they'd have to pull back for supplies. That was a rather poor assumption, he realized, as they could easily live off the land or send runners to their allied towns for supplies. It'd be a last resort them.

"Are there any favorable positions for our ballistic units?" Quintus asked.

"Besides the camp walls?"

"Yes, let's say we take the fight to them."

Hadvar gulped but answered. "There's a ridge covered by tree line about a half kilometer out. We'll have enough time to set them up but the ground below is marshy. Excellent kill zone but our troops will be bogged down as well. And I believe that'll leave out spearmen exposed too long."

"Is the riverbed dry or full in the area?"

"Full, why sir?"

"Easier to deter. Mobilize the units; we have a long shot to perform. What are you staring at soldier? Move." Quintus for a brief moment allowed himself a confident gleam. He cut it short. Over confidence got men killed.

It was a marvelous sight. The Legion on the move; drilled to perfection and disciplined like no other. They fight to last man and do so proudly. What a lie that was. No soldier cared about duty. It was about survival. Kill the other man before he killed you. Quintus growled in frustration, the golden age of the Empire died in the Oblivion crisis. No one could deny that. What assembled and moved out before Quintus was a band of men who shared the burdens of war. Like it or not, they fight for the man next to them. Not the emperor, not their general, not even their commander. There was no espirit de corps. Quintus was going to change that.

* * *

The sun was up by the time Quintus and his contingent arrived. He could not, in good conscience, call them his Legion. One, he was not high enough in rank and two; he had yet to prove himself worthy of command.

Just as Hadvar said, the ground beneath the ridge was marshy and the riverbed to the West was full. The tree line provided adequate cover and maybe they could catch the enemy by surprise. Quintus ordered all his ballistic units onto the ridge and heavy infantry to form a double row maniple. It was a loosely formed phalanx in a checkerboard formation. Enough room to swing a sword but close enough to guard the man to their right. Lastly, he ordered the spearmen to the rear; well protected and deadly.

The contingent was facing West with the sun at their backs. Despite being mid morning, long shadows clawed the valley as wind blew through the trees. Quintus positioned himself well within the fortified spearman ranks. Fool he was not but a coward he detest. Honor was not earned by ordering men to their death. It was gained by leading the men into something greater than themselves. Quintus hoped this would be a quick battle. In earning the respect of his men, he left the eyes of commanding them to fate.

"Here they come!" a man on the frontline announced.

The Stormcloaks seemed to be in no formation. More or less, they clumped in small groups with noticeable gaps in between. From his position, Quintus saw no commander. Only the dark blue uniforms and gleaming steel weapons.

"Infantry, shields up! _Pila, _brace! Archers! Singers! Hold fire!" Quintus ordered while drawing his own sword.

"Ho-ah!" The men did as told.

The clank of shields was loud enough to wake the dead. The volume of spears straightened and braced. The unmistakable groan of bowstrings was caught in the tree line.

"Give them no inch. Hold!"

War cries rang out as the Stormcloaks tried to charge. The objective word: tried. The marshy earth sucked their strength as they crashed into the Legion line.

"Hold!" Quinuts ordered.

The heavy infantry pushed back with their shield but did not pursue. One or two Stormcloaks broke through the first line but were cut down quickly by the seconds. The enemy soldiers tried again to charge, this time at a more controlled pace. When they met the line, they were not so easily repelled. They hugged the heavy infantry, but were not given enough space to swing. The second row jumped forward but helped pushed the enemy back.

Only so far though, as more and more Stormcloaks filled the marsh land. They massed and massed and pressed hard on the Legion maniple.

"Maniples! Collapse!" Quintus barked. They had to hold.

The maniples abandoned their checkerboard formation and formed a full phalanx

"_Pila_, Advance!" The spearmen moved forward and pushed the Stormcloaks back. Taking a few in the process. Here it was, the moment of truth.

"Fire!" It was a miracle the command found its way through the clamor of battle but it served adequate.

Projectiles rained upon the killing zone, mere meters in front of the Legion front line. The enemy soldiers were cut to ribbons. Rank upon rank of Stormcloaks fell to javelin or arrow. Quintus felt the change before he saw his.

"Push forward! Move!" As one, the phalanx and spearmen moved forward; mechanically and efficiently. With each step, with each slog into the fray, the men gained momentum. No, it was something more, Quintus was sure of it. Without orders, the archers and stingers relented firing and allowed the infantry to push unabated. Within moments, the Stormcloaks were routed and running.

"Infantry, hold!" Quintus ordered.

A slight rustle of cloth and metal denoted compliance as Quintus made his way to the front ranks. He was proud; they fought as they were trained and they obeyed without question.

"Good job men." He congratulated them. "This day is ours. Today we mark the reuni—" Suddenly, he was cut short but the twang of a bow. He barely turned as the arrow pierced his right thigh, laterally. He dropped to a knee in shock but bit a cry of pain. Without orders, the phalanx jumped in front of their leader, shields up and ready.

Quintus cursed himself. He shouldn't have jumped to a conclusion of victory. Hubris, it was the downfall of every commander. It would not be his.

"Fall back, ten paces. Do not break rank for anything!" Quintus left the arrows as it was but kept rank with his men. The Stormcloaks, newly invigorated by their reinforcements, charged with arrow cover.

When the infantry arrived in front of their original positions, Quintus again cursed. His ballistics were being suppressed by the enemy archers. How could have forgotten about them? It didn't matter, he had to fix his mistake quickly or more men would die.

"_Testudo_!" Quintus barked "Now!" Unexpected situation required unexpected strategies.

The infantry formed up beautifully. It was a standard formation technique and thankfully, it easily countered any arrows coming their way. The only drawback was the loss of retreat. _Testudo_ formation was essentially a giant box of shields and spears. Waves of infantry crashed into the _testudo_, but every time, they lost a good number from the brief Legion counter attack. Soon, the mass of Legion soldiers was nestled deeply within the Storkcloak ranks.

"Time to earn your crimson! Break!" Quintus roared.

In a swift movement, the_ testudo_ broke and Legionnaires fought their way through the Stormcloaks. Quintus was not one to be surpassed in blood.

"_Pila_ with me! I want those archers dead!" He led the charge against the Stormcloak archers, splashing through the river bed none had dare cross. They were too preoccupied with the Legion archers and were cut down easily. Quintus went as far as cutting through a bow with his sword and slicing the owner. Then, he jumped back with the spearmen and stabbed another archer.

The heavy infantry were holding their own and held together without hand holding. Although they weren't officially his men, a pang of pride hit Quintus. He ordered the spearmen to rejoin the heavy infantry and the whole group moved slowly back to allow the archers a clear shot.

Those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it.

Quintus didn't relish the bloodletting, but it kept his men safe. In minutes, the remaining Stormcloaks ran for their lives.

"_Frumentarii_." He called. "Follow them. Makes sure they don't come back."

Hadvar came sliding down from the ridge. "Permission to join."

"Hold up," Quintus said pulling a dagger from his hip. "What rank are you?"

"I'm an _Immune_."

"I'm merely a Tribune and my promotion counts little except in name, but," Quintus handed it to his Nordic counterpart, "You're promoted to _Optio._"

"But sir," Hadvar tried to decline, "I'm an Immune, I shouldn't be given a structured rank and we don't have Centurions."

"Exactly," Quintus explained and pressed the handle into Hadvar's hand, "You'll be my XO for lack of better bridging."

"T-Thank you sir," Hadvar bowed his head humbly.

"Go," Quintus resumed his command, "Tail those Stormcloaks."

Hadvar sheathed the dagger and went off after the routed enemy.

"Collect our wounded and dead!" Quintus barked. "I want us at our camp now. Move it soldiers!"

The men acquiesced and did as told. Quintus looked to the mass of bodies lying in the marshy earth. It was nothing new to him. In fact it was scarily familiar. He looked down at the arrow in his thigh and growled. He snapped the tail end with a grunt and yanked the remaining shaft out. He had to grit his teeth but gave no other indications of pain. Then tossed the arrow away. He held his hand over the wounds and willed the healing. In moments, the wound was closed and his leg was fully functional.

He shook his head and sighed. Corpses, weapons, armor and projectiles littered the ground. It was hard to tell the difference between mud and blood. He picked up a discarded sword and examined it. It was finely crafted, the inlaid design was signature and sleek. The hilt was standard as with the pommel but the grip was rather interesting. Where one would expect leather, there was bone. It wasn't animal as far as Quintus could tell. In fact, it was too off-white to be animal but not yellow enough.

Quintus wielded the sword and it was unbalanced, heavier near the hilt. Not an odd design but not something common in Skyrim. He scanned the valley once more and contented himself to return back to Riverwood with his men.

* * *

From one skirmish, Quintus found himself right in the heat of another. They returning men were backed up a ways away from the camp and Quintus walked though to see what the problem was. The soldiers let him pass; nodding their heads, others saluting him.

"What seems to be the problem?" Quintus asked

Several Riverwood guards stood in front of the Legion camp. They were blocking the men from entering their dwellings.

"Your men are covered in blood." One guard said. "Who's blood?"

"Bear blood," Quintus fired back. "Any reason why you're not letting us into our camp?"

"We don't like your men so close to our homes and frankly I don't like you."

"Well, I'm sure you wouldn't like a dragon close to your home either. Be smart, chose the lesser problem." Quintus gave the guard a hard glare. It seemed to pierce the hard metal helmet and the guard balked.

"But—"

"No," Quintus said, "Be quiet and listen. If you have a problem say it now or walk away." There was something feral in his voice as well as a challenge.

"You Imperial dog!" The guard took a step forward with his hand resting on the pommel oh his sword and Quintus reacted quickly.

He stepped forward and slammed his elbow into the guards gut. The guard lurched forward and Quintus grabbed his neck, yanking sharply down. The guard yelped as Quintus pressed him to the ground, arm around his neck. The guard tried desperately to escape the choke hold but every move brought further pain.

"Rule number one of the Legion: Respect." Quintus grunted and planted his knee in the spine of the guard. "Doesn't matter who you are or who you're talking to. Respect."

Quintus pulled the guard up to his feet and threw him to his buddies. "No leave my men alone. They don't play as nice as me." The guards balled his fists but retreated back into Riverwood, kicking a chicken in the backside.

"What are you standing around for?" Quintus turned to his men. "Get inside and depress. I want wounds cleaned and armor pressed. Go."

The soldiers followed, some with grins others snickering on the way. It wasn't professional to humiliate but violence did have its place in education.

"Tribune," a soldier called out. "Your tent is ready." The soldier ran off and resumed other duties.

Quintus mulled over the idea of resting but once he did, fatigue hit him like a wave. He strode into camp and took in the smell of progress as well as the pungent odor of hard work. It was probably mid-day but after taking the nightshift, he felt the negative effects of adrenaline. Walking through the camp, Quintus found his tent. It was rather small but a Legion banner was staked to the ground outside of it.

The interior was humbly furnished. A simple cot lay on one side and an armor stand lay on the other. A small washbasin was positioned near the entrance and a long table sat in the rear. Quintus stripped his armor and placed it onto the stand. He laid his sword on the table. He gently tugged off a silver band from his ring finger and laid it next to his sword. He quickly washed his face before lying in the cot. He closed his eyes and yawned deeply. As much as adrenaline helped, it downed him quick. In moments, Quintus drifted off.

* * *

"Tribune!"

Quintus bolted upright and instinctively grabbed his sword.

The soldier was stricken and quickly apologized. "I'm sorry sir. Urgent messenger from General Tullius, Legion High Command of Skyrim."

"Not a problem soldier. Only doing your job." He took the scroll from the messenger and waved his away.

_To Marcus Quintus Aurelius_

_From General Tullius _

_I was not aware of a new Legion commander in this theatre. I am aware of your discharge via General Collatinus. I cannot condemn fighting in self defense but I will not condone offensive campaigns into non-Imperial territory. I cannot reinstate your status in the Legion but, by proxy, I name Evocutas and equivalent to your previous rank. Please send my regard to Jarl Balgruf. Any actions you take will be categorized "Sua Sponte". Please remain in the Province for further orders. _

Quintus shook his head. As much as he loved the subtexts of formal letters, he was disappointed in the directness of his orders. He summed it up to this: "You have license to kill and only in Skyrim. You are not recognized as Tribune but as a freelancer. Lastly, if caught, you're left in the wind."

He let his head droop and he rubbed his eyes, gently placing the scroll on his table. He walked out of his tent and into the camp. It was very peaceful in the nightlight. The soldiers off duty were gathered around fires and jawing rather happily. They chewed on rationed meat and bread without complaint. As Quintus listened closely, he heard them talk of the battle earlier in the day. There were embellishments, of course, and griping. Soldiers always griped.

He strode onto the earthen ramparts and stood beside one of the archers on duty.

"Have the _frumentarii_ arrived?" he asked.

"Yes sir," the archer didn't turn. "They delivered their report to the quartermaster and went out to hunt."

"Much obliged," Quintus said, "You're relieved of night watch."

"Sir?" the archer turned, slightly concerned.

"Don't worry. I've got you covered."

The archer nodded and walked down the rampart. As soon as he disappeared inside a tent, Quintus again watched the horizon. He squinted at the glowing orange embers amongst the black green of the valley.

He considered it being the _frumentarii_ but they'd never expose themselves so blatantly. As quickly as it appeared, the orange glows disappeared. Quintus cataloged the event and frowned. He would investigate next time. He had watch duty to perform.

* * *

**AN: Eh, I'm sorry this is a tad short. The battle took some consideration. Quintus is kind of a badass. If you haven't recognized that or hate it… "To each their own." I'm just about to send Quintus out on his own. I just have to find a suitable co-commander. Idle soldiers are playthings of the Daedra… I'm thinking about adding more diversity into the Legion mages (battle, healers, auxillary), cavalry (light, archer, heavy) and maybe some dogs of war. It's still in the inceptions stage. Thanks to Zerosity for the idea.  
**

**_Frumentarii_: A specialist type of Legion soldier. Part soldier, part scout, part scavenger, part spy. **

**Heavy infantry is generally dressed as steel plated chest guard, greaves, large metal shield, a short sword, and a studded leather helmet. **

**Spearmen are dressed similarly, minus the shield and sword but with a long spears. **

**Stinger: Proper unit name for javelins.**

**_Espirit de Corps_: Essentially morale and cohesiveness of a large army**

**_Testudo_: Tortoise in **_**Latin. **_**The formation is used to deflect projectiles while moving from cover to cover or in this case closing ground.**

_**Pila**_**: spears**

**Immunes: Designation for soldiers not required to perform mundane duties such as guard duty, latrine duty, and construction. Generally populated by frumentarii, clerks, cooks, and other non-essentials.**

_**Optio: **_**Serves under a Centurion and serves as XO or personal guard.**

**_Evocutas_: A retired or discharged soldier re-enlisting. Paid above standard but below retiring rank.**

**Sua Sponte: "Of their own accord" Without consent of higher powers **


End file.
